


Scent of Something More

by WriterChick



Category: Daniel O'Malley, The Checquy Files - Daniel O'Malley, The Rook
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 04:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14464566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterChick/pseuds/WriterChick
Summary: Myfanwy finds Alrich in her office...





	Scent of Something More

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreedIsGreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreedIsGreen/gifts).



Myfanwy placed the flat of her hand on the hidden door in her office, pressing ever so gently to avoid even the quietest of squeaks from sounding. She’d gone back to her apartment and grabbed a fresh blouse to change into after having found her muscle memory for chopsticks sorely lacking. 

More of her supposedly empty office came into view as the door opened, lending a false sense of safety. Myfanwy stepped one foot out and squeezed herself gingerly through, as if opening the door completely would somehow sound an alarm. Subterfuge had never come naturally to Myfanwy.

So focused on shutting the door behind her, she hadn’t noticed how entirely  _ not _ alone she was. “No need to take such care on my account,” a disembodied voice rumbled in the air. 

Myfanwy’s stomach spasmed in surprised and threatened to toss it’s contents out in protest of such shock. She glanced around the room, searching for the voice’s point of origin. Adrenaline, cortisol, and norepinephrine surged through her system, activating her sympathetic nervous system. The voice didn’t seem attached to anyone or anything and terrified her. Myfanwy was not a fighter, despite the rigorous combat training she’d been subjected to in her years at the Estate. Flight seemed the more likely choice, if she had zero regard for Ingrid stationed unassumingly outside. 

The voice sounded again. “There’s no need to be frightened, Myfanwy.” There was movement in the far corner of the room, first a leg emerged and then chest--all quite decidedly male. She knew before she saw his perfect ivory face or long red hair, that it was Alrich. 

The sense of relief she’d been expecting to feel at being able to identify the familiar face, never seemed to come. She hadn’t realized she’d been gaping until she had to close her mouth. Myfanwy reminded herself that this was her office and fear was...well, not allowed. “I’m not frightened.” 

While his expression remained nonplussed by her lie, there was a glimmer in his eyes that gave her goosebumps. She tried and failed to discern if it was amusement or something  _ more _ . “To what do I owe the honor of your  _ unexpected _ visit?” 

His lips quirked at her emphasis. 

_ Amusement _ , she decided.  _ It was definitely amusement. Of course it wouldn’t have been something more. Thomas definitely set the stage for a spinster-style life, didn’t she? Besides, it’s not as if Alrich of all people, would ever bother taking an interest in awkward Thomas. Unless it was to kill her, which he’s still a candidate to consider in that regard. And besides-- _

His voice derailed her from wherever it was her thoughts were taking her. “As you know, the Checquey does not abide traitors, and dispatches them quite efficiently.” His growl deepened as he eyed her. “There’s reason to believe you’ve been associating with grafters.”

Myfanwy’s face failed to hide her alarm and she rooted her legs in pace, refusing to step back despite his gradual advance. “Reason?” She questioned, “What reason?” 

Alrich stood close enough to warrant the need to tilt his head in order to keep her in his field of view. He paused for a moment, and she counted each pale freckle in the light dusting on either cheekbone. Myfanwy would distract herself however necessary to stand her ground. Just when she’d started her second round of counting, Alrich spoke. “In addition to traced phone calls from this very office-” 

_ Pawn Alan Summerhill, that narc! _

“You’ve been seen associating after hours with a known grafter,” Alrich finished. The glimmer returned to his eye, and though she’d determined it to be amusement before, it was different now, more vibrant-- _ enhanced _ . “What a social life you lead.” 

_ You bastard! You were at the club too. It wasn’t my fault razor-teeth decided to blackmail me. _

“You don’t seriously believe me to be a traitor.” It was work to keep the question out of the statement.

Alrich smoothed a hand over the buttons of his vest, drawing attention to the obnoxiously ornate pattern on it. “Regardless of what I believe, an open line of communication between us and them could be advantageous.” 

She marveled at the idea that he may not trust her. It wasn’t as if she were the vampire in the equation. Neither was she the person deemed so dangerous that no one dared question her or bother putting bodyguards on her. Thomas a traitor? It was laughable. 

“You have questions.” 

_ Only about a million of them.  _ “Just seeing where this leads, Alrich.” 

His lips quirked again as he admired, “Smart. Though, that’s never been in question.” He paused, as if waiting for her to respond. She refused to take the bait, mainly because the idea that he thought she was intelligent did strange things to her insides, things she wasn’t about to spend too much time exploring. At least not with him present. “I’ve left a folder on your desk to best brief you for your next assignment. I intend to keep you close by until I decide your level of treason, and how best to use this new connection.”

_ Keep me close? How close? He’s a bishop for pete's sakes. It’s not as if we share the same staff lounge. Come to think of that, we don’t have staff lounges, though that’s probably because we have our own offices with hidden entrances to apartments made to optimal shagging specifications. Thank you--no thank you, Grantchester. _

“More questions.” Alrich smirked, knowingly. “You may ask one if you must.”

_ Just one? How gracious. _ Irritation tickled her brow and her jaw tightened. She had half a mind to whirl around on her heel, storm back to her secret entrance, and slam the door behind her. 

If he would let her. 

Thomas’ purple-binder-warning came to memory:

_ If Alrich is our enemy, then you face a foe who has power on every level. His strength means he could shred you like a dried leaf. His mental abilities can prevent you from taking any action. His speed can outdraw your fastest reflexes. His cunning and authority will prevent you from mustering any support within the organization. And his lack of humanity means that he will not hesitate to destroy you if he deems it necessary. _

On a possibly lighter note (it was hard to tell with Thomas), she’d added:

_ However, his predatory nature means he might play with you beforehand.  _

Is that what he was doing? Keeping her close by to better play with his food before he ate it? A shiver ran down her spine as she thought back to the bar. Under the protection of mild inebriation, she’d been more oblivious to his comments than she perhaps should have been. “That night, at the bar…you said you’d followed...”

His eyebrow raised. 

“ _ My scent _ .” Myfanwy cleared her throat to raise the volume of her voice. It had been steadily creeping lower and lower the more unseemly things became. Staying the course, she continued, “Because you were curious what I’d been doing out and that you were intrigued when you tracked me to such a place.” 

How someone could growl through a grin, she wasn’t sure, but he managed it. “And your question?” 

He stood inches from her and were he human, she would have felt the warmth of his body heat radiating off of him. At the rate of things, she was simply glad she didn’t feel frost clouding the breath in front of her face. Instead, Alrich gave off neither extreme, and provided only presence. It called out to every atom of her body, charging her with an awareness of him from her toenails to her split ends. It was too much to take and yet she already felt herself building a tolerance to it as she breathed, “ _ Why? _ ”

Was it simply to sniff out a traitor? Or was there something more?

Alrich tilted his head, appraising her. She held his gaze, not looking down as his hands moved to clasp behind his back leisurely. Myfanwy’s eyes followed him as he stepped to the side, and slowly began to circle her. When he stepped behind her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running his index finger along her shoulder blades as he passed, so violating was his visual inspection. 

_ You could run now. You’ve got a clear line to the door. He isn’t blocking you. _ The thought teased her. No one could run from Alrich, to even think it was self-destructive.  

He’d come to stand in front of her again, his eyes raking shamelessly over her as they had that night. Little frissions of excitement exploded everywhere his gaze landed. The ever-polished and reserved Bishop Alrich was downright leering at her. 

The satisfaction from that did not last any substantial length of time before she realized she was blushing like a schoolgirl. Well, a normal school girl--not an estate schoolgirl. Though, she knew not all were as awkward as her.  _ Good god, my face probably looks as red as his hair, _ she worried. His hair wasn’t always red, she remembered. At the club it was blonde and he said that was because he was hungry. Was there a correlation between the color of his hair and how much blood he’d sucked from some horny club dancer? His hair looked exceedingly red at the moment.

Alrich’s eyes squinted, as if sensing her silent shift from fear to embarrassment to curiosity. Before he could ask (if he would have even been inclined to), Myfanwy replied, “Your hair is much redder than I saw it last.” 

He smirked and she felt a pinch of humiliation for it. “I mean,” she spoke quickly. “It’s much redder than I’ve  _ ever _ seen it, actually.” And it was. It had always been a blood red color, but on this particular visit, it appeared moreso. It was both deeper and brighter at the same time, and felt almost _ threatening _ . 

“I fed before I came here.” 

“Oh?” She asked, and then immediately wanted to leap behind her desk and hide until he left.  _ Oh? What kind of response was that? Who says, ‘Oh?’  _ Myfanwy tried desperately to save herself. “I mean that makes sense, I guess. It is dinner time, after all.”

_ I should not be allowed to talk anymore _ , she scolded herself and glanced down at the floor, too mortified to look him in the face. She felt his fingers touch gently under her chin, and she wondered if they were really his or if it was simply the power of his presence offering a similar illusion of contact as before. Myfanwy’s mild resistance was met with increased force and she knew then that he’d actually reached for her. So startled by that, she lifted her head out of his hand and stared back into the glittering orbs that seemed so amused by her. “I find it is always necessary to feed before I see you. Regardless of the time of day.”

She gulped at that. What could he possibly mean by that?  _ Myfanwy, I find you incredibly hot and I have to feed before I see you so I don’t lose all control in my quest to bed the fuck out of you.  _ What if it was,  _ Myfanwy, I find you especially edible and I feed to keep from eating you because I’m sensible enough to know it would be bad for business if I did. _ Perhaps it was some strange combination of the two? Sweat gathered in the small of her back, her mouth tacky and dry as she processed the possibilities. 

A low growl rumbled through the air and resonated in her chest, though she knew she was not responsible for its creation. Alrich had finally broken eye contact, though it wasn’t to wander far. She followed his gaze down to her lips; she’d just wet them. “Alrich?”

When he didn’t immediately drag his gaze from her mouth, she pointed out, “You haven’t answered my question.” 

He smiled and replied casually, “No, I haven’t. Not the one you’re referring to. I told you  _ one _ question, and I did answer  _ one _ question.” 

Myfanwy thought back through the conversation, selectively ignoring all the embarrassing bits where her body didn’t seem to know whether or not to flee or strip naked and wait impatiently. It simply was not fair for him to look so appealing. “Actually, no you haven’t.”

Alrich was already walking away. His stride never slowed as she explained, “I never asked about your hair.” 

“Didn’t you?” He tossed over his shoulder. 

“I didn’t,” she asserted, following after him at a determined pace. “I merely commented on it. You decided to respond. But I did not ask about it.” 

He turned suddenly and she almost crashed into him. She froze as he towered over her, his hair lifting from his shoulders to hang from either side of his face. His voice was husky, “Not all questions are asked aloud. You, Myfanwy Thomas, know that more than most.” 

Not for the first time, she gaped up at him, feeling the wind knocked from her lungs. The man noticed her. Both of her. Myfanwy now and Thomas then. She was exposed and it was extremely terrifying, and on some deeper level, gratifying. He had turned back around in the space of a blink, and had made it to the door in the next. 

So many things wanted to shoot from her mouth, and yet she lacked the ability to pull the trigger on anything profound. Instead, she uttered a bunch of unintelligible sounds that he no doubt heard with his heightened senses and also found entertaining. 

He paused in the doorway and grinned unabashedly at her. “Eat a light dinner, Rook Thomas. Field work, as you know, can be a bit demanding.” 

“Field work?”

“The documents are on your desk,” he reminded her. He turned and tipped his head to a bewildered Ingrid, who’d risen from her desk to peer through the door. 

Myfanwy watched the blood soaked hair slowly disappear the farther he got down the hall and kept quiet as Ingrid approached. “Where did he come from?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” 

“Shall I have a bodyguard stationed inside your office?” Ingrid asked, as if that would have been any more helpful. 

“He’s a bishop.”  _ And a vampire. _ “A bodyguard won’t stop him from getting what he wants.” Myfanwy stepped quickly around Ingrid, pulling the file from her desk and flipping through it.

Ingrid would not be deterred. “And he wants you?” 

She felt her face flush again and she took a deep breath to calm the color. His eyes hung in her memory, looking at her indiscernibly. “He wants something.”

 

 


End file.
